The P.U.R.E. Page 11

  “What about my car?”

  “We’ll get it later.”

  I didn’t argue because Doug knew my address, and I assumed he would come looking for the files and me. We were soon free of the garage and downtown Dallas, heading north on Central Expressway.

  “Do you think Doug’ll be okay?”

  Jon heaved a loud sigh. “Don’t worry about that jackass.” He glanced at me as he finished speaking, back at the road, and to me again. “Are you okay, Gayle?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me, just pissed me off more than anything. I’m angry I let him bully me, but Jon, I’m so sorry I dragged you into my problem.”

  “Don’t be. I’m not. I’m glad I was there because I knew he was up to no good. I knew it.”

  “Do you think he’ll try to get us fired?”

  “Me, maybe. Probably not you. How would he explain it? You’ve already initiated a harassment claim. I don’t think they’d dare dismiss you without at least doing an investigation. If Doug’s smart, he’ll keep his big fat mouth shut and make up some lame story about the bruises he’ll have tomorrow.”

  “What about what Doug and Bob said … about shredding the files?”

  “Well, they can’t now, can they? You’ve got them in your hot little hands, right?” He chuckled softly.

  “Thank goodness.”

  He passed the exit for both our apartment buildings. “Where are we going?”

  “To my sister’s house. She’s out of town but gave me her key so I can bring in her mail and water her plants. We’ll go there, have a look at those files, then figure out a plan and a story.”

  “Okay.” I had absolutely no idea what our plan or story might be.

  18

  Jon’s older sister, Jenny, lived in a modest single-family home in Coppell, a Dallas suburb near the airport—convenient for a flight attendant.

  “The bathroom’s down the hall, last door on the left,” Jon said. “I’ll see what Jenny’s got to eat or drink.”

  “All praise to the porcelain gods!” I dashed down the hall. A trompe l’oeil mural of a Tuscan landscape adorned the wall opposite the toilet. Modesty compelled me to shift my knees a few degrees to avoid the farmer who ogled my watering of his field.

  On my way back to the kitchen, I paused to scrutinize the family photos on the walls and a sofa table. Several showcased the entire Cripps clan—Jenny, Jon, their younger brother, Jason, and their parents. Jenny and Jon resembled each other and their Florentine mother. Jason bore more of a resemblance to their father, though he too had his mother’s Mediterranean coloring. Jenny posed with a fair-haired man in skiing clothes at the Santa Fe ski resort. The man’s smiling face appeared in far too many photos alone or with Jenny to be anyone other than a boyfriend. Jon hadn’t mentioned a brother-in-law, and I found no wedding pictures.

  Jon handed me a glass of iced water as he joined me. He pointed at a photo, “That’s Jenny’s fiancé, Scott. They’ve been engaged for about five years with no wedding date in sight.” He laughed. “We Cripps don’t like to rush into anything and believe in ridiculously long engagements.”

  “Oh, yeah? So if you guys hadn’t called off your engagement, when do you suppose you’d have gotten around to marrying Thalia?”

  “Never.”

  I studied his expression to determine if he was serious. “What kind of answer is that? Why’d you bother asking her in the first place?”

  “It wasn’t always never. We got engaged to get our mothers off our backs. They’ve been best friends since they were girls in Italy, and their families immigrated together. They always assumed Thalia and I would marry. We did the dating part okay, but as soon as we started our senior year in college, the pressure to marry intensified. My mother’s idea was we’d get engaged near the beginning of the spring semester so we could be married shortly after graduation.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. It didn’t feel right, I guess. We went to different schools and rarely spent any time together, but neither of us seemed to mind. We were always sort of on-again, off-again. I realize now I didn’t love her, not like I … well, not like I should have.”

  “What did your mother say when you told her you two broke up? I’ll bet she was pretty upset, huh?”

  “I haven’t told her yet. I haven’t told Jenny, either, though I will when she’s back in town. Thalia and I agreed to keep our split on the down low until Thanksgiving.”

  “Wow. Is Jenny in a similar situation, a semi-arranged marriage with the son of family friend? This is so old school, I gotta tell you.”

  He chuckled and picked up a photo of the couple, handing it to me. “Not old school. This is them together. They don’t seem to be in any hurry.”

  “They don’t live together either?”

  “Shame on you for suggesting they live in sin.” He winked. “They’re not in a hurry to do that either,” He put the photo back on the sofa table. “They are, however, driving Mom crazy.”

  “I don’t understand the point of getting engaged then. Are they even in love?”

  “I think they love each other, yeah, but in love? Tough one for anyone but them to answer.”

  “Sounds to me like they’ve formed a habit neither is willing to break.”

  “You could be right. Like me, Jenny probably needs some external incentive to either break it off or plow forward.”

  “Maybe.” I wanted to ask more but knew all of it was none of my business, and he’d probably already told me more than he was comfortable with. I guessed Thalia’s seeing another man was Jon’s “incentive”. Poor guy.

  The next photo made my heart go pitter pat. I picked up one of three children, one of whom was obviously Jon. “Aw, how cute! How old?” I loved kids, pictures of kids, kid things. He took it, smiled and handed it back. “Jason was one. So I was seven and Jenny twelve.”

  “Look at the little bowl cut. You should still wear your hair that way with the short bangs—kind of a retro Dumb and Dumber.” I tried not to laugh but lost the battle.

  He snatched the picture from me and held it to his chest protectively. “Very funny, Lindley.” Though he feigned outrage, I could tell he was on the verge of laughter too.

  “Ooh, he used my last name. I think I struck a nerve. Sorry, but I can’t let an opportunity to tease you slide by.”

  “I know that only too well.”

  My smile faded as the moment passed. I worked my free hand into my back pocket, waiting for him to offer up his plan for what we were doing at his sister’s house.

  “Uh, so no snacks. Jenny’s running on empty,” Jon said.

  “That’s okay. I’m not usually hungry this time of night anyway.”

  The atmosphere took on a stuttery, awkward, adolescent feel.

  As he returned the photo to its spot, I noticed his left hand for the first time. The skin was mottled, a sort of purplish blue and pink. He held his glass of iced water against the knuckles.

  “Let me see your hand.” I extended my own to take hold of his.

  “It’s okay. Just a little bruised.” He held it out for me.

  I stroked his chilled knuckles with my thumb and raised my eyes to his. “Thank you, Jon.” Our gazes locked.

  An overpowering awareness of him—not as my colleague and friend, but as a very desirable man—flooded me. I realized too late he might have construed my action as an invitation, and perhaps in some corner of my consciousness, it was. The logical part of me regained control, and I released him.

  “You’re welcome.”

  We stared at each other, unspeaking. He leaned in slightly, only to straighten and offer a weak smile. I was sure he meant to kiss me but had changed his mind.

  No co-workers. No good friends.

  But, but, but … I want him.

  You’d better cool your inner slut jets, Gayle. Change the subject, quick!

  I took a sip of my drink and moved backward into the living room.

  He fo
llowed me like a big cat intent on the hapless prey he’d lured to his lair—predatory and hungry. Perhaps my vivid imagination and runaway libido had conjured up the comparison in a spot of wishful thinking.

  “So … I gather you come from money.” I checked my path for obstacles. Scaredy cat.

  He laughed—a relieved sound. “You certainly speak your mind don’t you?”

  “Sometimes. Don’t tell me you’re just now noticing this.”

  “No. I noticed a long time ago, but I wasn’t sure how to mention it or if I should.”

  “Shy are ya?”

  “A little.” His eyes held mine in silent understanding.

  Or was it entreaty?

  “You aren’t like anyone I’ve ever known before,” Jon said.

  “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I set my drink down on a coaster on the coffee table.

  He motioned for me to sit on the sofa and sat beside me. “A good thing.” He drew his knees up onto the cushion, angling his body toward mine, and rested his head in the hand he propped up on the sofa back.

  I mimicked his action. “You had me worried you were going to chuck me out for my impertinence with no way of getting my car back or getting home.”

  He made a scoffing face. “I wouldn’t do that no matter how impertinent you might get.”

  “You say that now, but I’ve been chucked all too many times before.”

  “Not by any sane person.”

  I laughed and waved my hand. “Oh, you don’t even want to know.”

  “Actually, I’m quite curious about you, Gayle.” He brought his glass to his lips and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving mine.

  In all the months we’d been co-workers and friends, Jon and I had discussed many topics. Family, romance and relationships were never among them. When they came up, he slammed the door and changed the subject. I wondered what had changed.

  “Alright, since you asked. My last boyfriend, one I’d dated for a year, sent me an email ten minutes before he was supposed to pick me up for a date. He said he was terribly sorry, but he was cancelling. Seems he’d met someone else who was his soul mate, and would I mind boxing up and dropping off anything of his he’d left behind at my apartment. Oh, and he also suggested for future relationships, I should keep my brains under wraps because no guy likes a girl who’s smarter than he is.”

  Jon dutifully shook his head and rolled his eyes.

  “Needless to say, he didn’t get any of his stuff back. I sold it all on eBay with a melodramatic sob story about how he’d done me wrong. I made three hundred bucks. Twenty-five for the MP3 player and two hundred seventy five for a Barry White CD that came with a framed copy of his Dear Jane email, decorated with my derogatory doodles.”

  “You made that last part up, didn’t you?” His lips curled into a sardonic grin.

  “No, I didn’t. It really happened. I think a publisher used the email for a book cover or something. I blacked out his name at least.”

  Jon laughed, and so did I. He leaned forward and set his glass on the coffee table. Our knees pressed together but separated when he straightened.

  “Your boyfriend was an idiot.”

  “A colossal one.”

  His eyes searched my face for the longest time.

  “What?”

  He ended his perusal. “Nothing. Why don’t we check out those files now.” His foot slid to the floor, and he leaned over the coffee table where they lay.

  Thank goodness. I might have embarrassed myself if he hadn’t ended our intimate chat. We sat side by side on the sofa and flipped silently through the files.

  Jon jiggled his leg up and down and fidgeted with his pencil, his socks, and a quarter he found under a throw pillow. I couldn’t take his frenetic movements, so I got up and sat on the floor on the opposite side of the table.

  “Am I bothering you?”

  “I wouldn’t say bothering, but you’re disturbing my concentration. You’re very edgy.” And very something else I shouldn’t be messing with.

  “You would be too if you’d beat your boss unconscious.”

  “Since I’m talking to Sandy Gomez tomorrow … or is it already today? What time is it anyway?”

  “A quarter till twelve.”

  “Should I mention what happened tonight or let Doug make the first move? You don’t think he’ll press charges, do you?”

  “No telling. I hope his ego wouldn’t let him. He didn’t land a single punch, and that worries me.”

  “While you landed more than enough. My brothers would be proud.”

  He stared at me for a few heartbeats before he smiled in a way I would describe as optimistic. “And … were you?”

  I squashed my prudent inner voice, and the truth popped out. “I was.”

  He leaned across the coffee table toward me, our gazes locked for a heart-stopping second before his drifted to my mouth. His intent couldn’t have been plainer, and unlike our last close call, I didn’t shy away.

  I rose up onto my knees, and he kissed me, tentatively at first as if testing the waters. Making them warm and receptive, I encouraged him enough to come back for a second dip. I clasped my hands around the back of his neck to deepen the kiss. He moved his hands to my waist and drew me to my feet, helping me scramble onto the coffee table separating us.

  Too tame. Too civilized. Not close enough.

  Stepping off onto the other side toward him, I slid down his body as his embrace tightened, slowing my descent until my toes touched his. I liked how powerful and safe his arms felt around me. My protector. My champion.

  Every instinctive Darwinian urge in me roared forth. I wanted the male in my arms who’d fought for me and won. I was his to do with as he wished.

  Nah, who was I kidding? I had always wanted him. The kiss had been a long time coming. I’d stepped over the platonic line at Bob’s party, and from that moment on, there had never been any chance of turning back.

  19

  I didn’t think Jon and I could press any closer together. Hands under his T-shirt in back, he groaned as my exploring fingers traveled over warm skin and rippling muscles. He’d already strayed beneath my shirt, stroking the small of my back and my shoulder blades. He upped the ante by peeling off my shirt in a quick and bold upward motion.

  Large hands clasped me by my waist. At that moment, I didn’t mind being small, not in the secure embrace of arms that enveloped me and offered protection.

  Jon’s breathing accelerated as one hand moved higher to massage my breast through the fabric of my bra. His lips molded to mine, and his tongue slipped between them. The kiss at Bob’s house seemed fumbling and childish in comparison.

  Maybe ditching his fiancée had granted him the clear conscience he lacked back then.

  “Oh Gayle,” he said with a sigh. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted you, wanted to do this.” He kissed a trail to my earlobe, his whispered words raspy with need.

  A rush of heat flooded the juncture of my legs. My stomach took a free-falling roller coaster ride as he dipped his tongue into my ear. My knees nearly buckled as he reduced me to pure mush. The hard ridge of his arousal pressed against my abdomen. I moaned and ground my hips into his.

  The moment was the most erotically charged I’d ever experienced with any man before—my need for him overwhelming.

  “I’ve wanted you too, Jon,” I murmured. “Take this off.” I peeled his shirt upward.

  He complied with a guttural “yes”, and while in undress mode, unhooked my bra in a single deft motion. Good man. I let it slide off my shoulders to the floor. Skin grazed skin, creating an exhilarating friction as I dipped down.

  Beginning at his navel, I kissed my way up his abdomen to his chest. He smelled faintly of soap with a trace of masculine sweat. His long fingers wove themselves into my hair, holding my head close. I made a quick detour along his chest and ended my path at the base of his throat, where I tasted the slight saltiness in the small hollow I found there.

&nbs
p; A sigh escaped my lips as his hands moved to cup and squeeze my breasts. His thumbs sought each of my nipples and drew them out into taut, sensitive peaks. My own hands worked the hard muscles of his ass and held his hips snugly against mine. He kissed me again, doing with his tongue what I hoped he’d soon be doing with another part of his body. The roller coaster in my stomach took another thrilling dive.

  When I tried to unbutton his jeans, his kiss became more urgent and demanding. He moved backward, pulling me with him. I continued to fumble with the top button until he slipped his hand in and flipped it open like it was a snap. The man was a master at undressing. I lowered his zipper enough to slip my hand in between his pants and briefs.

  His breath caught.

  He picked up the pace of our backward momentum, departing the living room and moving down the hall before we made a sharp turn into a bedroom.

  I shifted into overdrive and tugged his jeans and underwear below his hips. With a gentle push, he fell back into a seated position on the queen-sized bed. I knelt between his legs and finished drawing off the last of his clothing.

  He was completely and spectacularly nude except for a watch and a hopeful grin. I smiled up at him as I took him in my mouth. He rolled his head back and groaned. “Damn, Gayle.”

  Damn was right, as in damn good, because I was, and I didn’t stop until he shattered.

  He drew back the covers on the bed and pulled me to him. The look in his eyes—hunger, desire, lust—grabbed my insides and shook me like a quarter in a can.

  I did that to him. Me.

  He flicked his tongue over each of my nipples while his fingers unbuttoned and unzipped my pants. The warm grazes of his hands against my skin were like licks of flame.

  I stepped back to slide my jeans down and off and removed my socks. He devoured my every move from where he sat, emboldening me to stand tall, shoulders back, breasts thrust forward.

  “Come back here.” He growled and reached for my hand, tugging me between his thighs, the fine hairs of his legs tickling mine. Lazy fingers ran up and down my skin like the warm-up of concert pianist. “You’re like a stalker … tormenting me for months. If you only knew …” His head shook from side to side. “Mmm, if you only knew … You’re in so much trouble now.”